


The Firechild Prophecy

by ToBeAnAuthor



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:32:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1522958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToBeAnAuthor/pseuds/ToBeAnAuthor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A girl, though nameless at first, discovers a handsome king on the battle field when she is still a child. Magic, but unused to the ways of magic or peoples reactions too it, she strives to use her magic to save this unknown king from harm and win him the battle. <br/>But then the king discovers her magic, and the only person who can help is the manservant of the man who tried to kill her.<br/>Years later, and this king and his servant ride into the druid camp this magical girl has called home for so long. The king doesn't remember her, and yet there is something...something about her that remind him, that calls to him. Problem is, his manservant feels the same pull.<br/>Two powerful magical forces, one king, a dangerous enemy, a love triangle and the words of a prophecy that still burns in everybody's minds.<br/>'Should the Firechild die, Camelot will burn'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arthur Pendragon

Chapter One: Arthur Pendragon

FLASHFORWARD:

 

“Why do you play these games with me?” He asked. “Why put your life on pause for a cause you don't believe in?”  
I smiled and gently touched his face.  
“Do you trust me?” I asked instead.  
He hesitated and I smiled again.  
“I can see you don't.”  
“What if I said I wasn't sure yet?” He hedged when I started to move away from him. He put his hand on my shoulder and forced me to stay with him. “How would you answer my question then?”  
I shrugged.  
“I'd say I'd keep playing games with you until you do.” I answered him simply. “And I will continue to put my life at risk for a cause that I cannot believe in until you do.”  
“And what would happen if I did?”  
I searched his eyes for something that told me he was ready to hear this. Even though I didn't find it, the words seemed to tumble out on their own.  
“I'd have to die and Camelot would have to fall.”  
A scream pierced the air.

~0~

PRESENT DAY:

I first met Arthur Pendragon on the battle field when I was fifteen years old. I had wondered far from my abusive fathers cave in search for what little food I could forage and a break from my fathers slurred, crude words and hard, permanently fisted hands. 

I had heard some screams, some yells, and had seen smoke rise from two parts of the valley, two parts that were separated only by the thinnest part of the trail. The screams and yells had gone eerily silent then, the only thing piercing it was the clinks of metal and the sounds of metal against metal that made me think my ears were going to bleed.

I had crept closer to the thinnest part of the trail and ducked down just behind the hill, crawling up it so I could take a peek over the side. Two army's faced each other, dressed in there fine armer and grim, determined faces. I recognised both the armys, and I feared for them as both had a reputation for being one of the best armys in the whole wide world, or so my friend had told me. Camelot and Northridge. And there, standing right at the front with their swords raised, their faces pale and sweaty, were their leaders. The old king Digimon, and the young king Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot. It was Arthur that caught my eye for reasons other then his good looks and the deadly intent that shadowed his eyes. It was his trace of magic, that was all over him like finger prints of mud. I saw him glow that prominent orange colour that always told me when strong magic was involved. It was all over this anti-magic king, and thats what made me curious about him.

I had heard tales about both him and his father, most of them from my bitter fathers mouth when his ale had loosened his tongue. My mother had been killed in the Great Purge, along with her brother and mine. My older brother, my senior by just over a decade, barely sixteen when he and my uncle had marched off, magic at the ready, and never returned. Uther Pendragon and his knights had attacked my village soon after. My mother had thrust me, her youngest child, just one week off becoming seven, into my fathers arms and told him to run with me, and keep me safe. And because my father loved her, he agreed, albeit reluctantly. I can remember every second of that day, and the days that followed, with such vividness that whenever I cared to recall it it was almost like I was there, reliving it once more.

Therefore, it stood to reason that I should hate this Arthur Pendragon for merely the blood that ran through his veins. And perhaps I would have, had I not been distracted by his bright orange glow that covered him. And maybe I might have had I not then seen the man next to him also glowing a most vibrant orange, only this time the orange was so bright and vivid it might've been red.

Emrys.

The name floated through my mind, unbidden, and a shock as I tasted his power within my mouth. He was strong at magic, and that made me fear him. My father had often spat at my feet about a prophecy that had been made at my birth, but he had never elaborated on it other then to say I was suppose to be the most powerful sorceress in the entire world, and yet I was a fat brat. Since I had had nothing to compare my magic to, I could not compare my magic to this mans, Emrys. For all I knew, my magic could've been weak and useless, whereas this mans was clearly stronger.

“One last chance, Digimon.” My eyes snapped to the King Arthur once more, who held his sword at the ready as his clear words carried across the trail to his enemy. The wind strengthened as my breath did, sending the gravel and the stones and the grass swaying and moving agitatedly. King Arthur continued. “One last chance.” He repeated. “Surrender and there will be no further repercussions. I only want peace.”

“You want nothing of the sort.” The other king shouted back to him. “You are the same as your father and I would spit on you if I thought you worthy of it! Now stop delaying!” He paused. “Unless you are the one who truly wants to surrender?”

There was a tense moment whilst my hands tightened on the mud, my eyes flitting from one army to the other frantically.

Finally, Arthur's voice rang out fiercely.

“For Camelot!”

“For Camelot!” His army took up the chant, and then suddenly there was caos and agony. The armys swarmed together in a fierce blood bath, and the sharp pinpricks in my head told me deaths and casualties had already been sustained. I screamed and rolled onto my back, trying to smother my noise but already knowing they couldn't hear me over the clanging of metal against metal, blood against blood, flesh against flesh and metal against flesh.

I rolled and kicked out my legs in agony until I finally couldn't take it any more and the anger I'd tried to keep at bay finally consumed me.

I sprang to my feet and turned towards the battle. They hadn't seen me and I slowly made my way half way down the grassy bank that rose around the trail that was now covered in sweat and blood. I cast my hand out towards the battle and pinpointed a particularly nasty and brutal killing machine.

“Færblæd wawe!” I cast and the man was sent tumbling back, hitting his head against a sharp rock. A big stab in my neck told me I'd killed him. Unfortunately, all along that side were also flung back.

I turned to the people who had chosen to stare at me and raised my hand to them as well, feeling my eyes burning and my veins coursing with the fluid, liquid of golden, powerful magic. 

“Hleap on bæc!” I proclaimed.

They all went spinning back, until, eventually, the more angry I got, an entire army was defeated. The Old kings army.

I couldn't believe what I had gone. I clutched myself as the burning within my head got worse then I could bare.

As King Arthur's army looked around themselves in bewilderment, I let out the most almighty scream and dropped to my knees. My head was flung back and my veins in my entire body stood on end as I tried to contain the burning. My shrieks must've been heard all over the kingdom, and soon I found myself being lifted, carried, even though my body was so stiff with pain and so numbed to anything else I did not fully comprehend the movement.

“Sire, its a girl.” I heard somebody say through my screams.

“She's in pain!” A voice cried, and footsteps rushed over the gravel towards me. The voice was music to my ears, silky and smooth and so full of delicious magic that it calmed me so much that I stopped screaming. I only panted heavily, the pain now less but still heavily weighing on my mind. 

I opened my eyes to see that man, the man with the dark hair and the green eyes, the lean figure and the almost red aura. He was there, and as he smoothed his hand over my forehead I think he was surprised about what he felt in me too, though I wasn't sure what that was.

“Quick, we needs herbs and ointment now!” He cried suddenly, whirling around. “Would somebody fetch my medicine bag!”

“Who is she?” And there he was, the blonde, good looking king himself. “What is she doing here?”

“She's clearly hurt, sire.” The man holding me told him urgently, but I didn't have enough curiosity or strength to turn my head to see his face. “She needs medical attention.”

“What the hell was she doing on the battle field?” The king demanded.

Then, I saw it. The Old King, there, creeping up behind Arthur with his sword glinting in the sunlight. I kicked frantically, trying to warn somebody without words so he wouldn't know I had seen him. How had nobody else seen him.

“No, no, keep still, you're hurt.” The man holding me tried to shush, tightening his hold around me, but still I kicked and bucked. The magical man, Emrys, was looking down on me in concern, smoothing my hair back from my forehead.

Finally, I could see no other choice and I stopped my kicking.

“Tæfle.” I whispered, and my eyes burned as I looked at the old king. He was flung back, cracked his neck, and once more a sharp pinprick in my head told me I'd killed him.

As Arthur and Emrys whirled around at the thump, the man holding me dropped me as if I'd suddenly turned to fire.

“Ow.” My legs gave way and I was left huddling in the gravel and mud, my head bowed as I tried to contain my anger. I could not let it release here of all places.

I heard the sword being drawn and felt it being held against my neck.

“Sire, the girl, she is magic.”

I looked up to see Emrys staring down at me, his whole body tense and his eyes glowing so lightly that I doubted any mortal could actually tell that it was.

“I know.” 

And the king stood there, his judgemental, warring eyes staring down at me as he placed his hands on his impressive hips. I hated his eyes then, I hated his posture then. In fact, I remember just hating him then. How dare he, after all I had just done for him, judge me?

“Why did you come here?” He asked.

I didn't answer, my eyes trained on him.

“What do you want from me?”

I shrugged.

“I want nothing. I only came across you accidentally. I do not like violence.”

“And yet I suppose you are the one who got rid of Digimon's army?”

I inclined my head and said nothing more.

He shook his head at me, seeming to be confused.

“And you say you came across us accidentally?”

“Yes.”

“You do know what the penalty of magic is, do you not?”

“We are no longer in Camelot. You cannot sentence me to death in my own land, my lord.”

He looked stunned.

“Your land?”

I looked up at him, feeling my own confusion.

“Yes, my lord. There is nowhere around here for miles except me and my father, so doesn't that mean the land is ours?”

He looked so startled that for a moment he said nothing, just stared at me, until he let out a reluctant little chortle.

“No, that is not the way it works. This land is still mine, that is why Digimon and I were fighting.”

I felt my eyes widen and fear fill me as I realized what this meant. He could sentence me to death for helping him using ways he did not understand. I could be dead by the next week.

I could still feel the sharp tip of the blade against my neck and suddenly, something inside me snapped.

“....just a girl, Arthur.” Emrys was saying as the time of my snap.

My head snapped up and I glared right into the eyes of King Arthur.

“I will not die for helping you!” I shouted right at him. “If this is the way you treat your allies, then it is no better then the way you treat your foes!”

I spun my head around and caught the blade in my hand, cutting it on myself even as I spun and twisted it out of the knights grip. I flung it to the side and felt my eyes burn and the wind whipped around as as the knights that would've stopped me were flung away and blinded by the wind.

I seized my skirts and ran. I ran as far up the hill and down the hill as I could, never once looking back as I heard their yells fade away into the background. I found the knot of trees and brambles my father used to push me in had I been naughty (or so he thought) and wrestled through them. The brambles cut at my face, my hair, my eyes, my arms, every piece of flesh it could get to as I ran through them to the little cove I used to sit and hide from my father. Nobody knew it was there, it was just a sheltered part of the wood with one tree stump in the middle of it and brambles surrounding it in a little circle. The brambles and tree stump were separated by a bit of soft mud that I used to pretend was magical healing mud.

I ran there.

~0~

 

I don't know how long I sat there, gazing up as the sun faded into the sky, massaging my wounds and trying to blot away the blood. It felt like hours but it could've been just minutes. The next thing I know, it is dark, and it is cold, and the brambles are rustling in a way that tells me somebody had found me. 

I can see his almost red aura before her turns up, can taste his power in the air as it tries to grab me and suffocate me in the sweetest way possible. 

His hair was dark and scruffy and his eyes wild and frantic as he stumbled into the circle, barely a scratch on him.

I stared up at him, not moving from my spot on the tree stump, and I cradled my cut hand to me. He didn't seem to be mortally armed, but of course he was magic so I think he could've hurt me anyway.

He saw me and instantly came to me, kneeling by my side.

“Hello.” he said softly, not moving any closer to me. “Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. My names Merlin. I just want to help you.”

I blinked slowly at him, confused.

“No. Your name is Emrys.”

He looked at me before sighing and shaking his head.

“You know that, do you? Well, in the mortal world my name is Merlin. Only to the druids am I Emrys. Are you a druid?”

I shook my head and he nodded.

“Then you can call me Merlin.” He grinned up at me suddenly, and I noticed what a lovely smile he had.

He offered his own hand to me.

“May I have a look at your cut?”

I drew it further away from him, shaking my head.

“No, Merlin.” I told him. “If I go home with cuts and bruises like this, he will leave me alone.”

As far as I was concerned, everybody's father's were like my father.

But Merlin just looked confused.

“He?” He questioned and I nodded, frowning at me.

“My father.” I snorted softly. “Well, my supposed father. He is not my real father, my real father was magic like my mother.”

He still looked confused, but he left that for now as he reached forward and firmly grasped my wrist in his, drawing my hand to him so he could examine it.

“Real fathers do not hurt their children.” He told me quietly, still holding my hand as he stared through the holes in my dress at my other cuts.

I didn't tell him I didn't think so, as I had never met any other fathers and he probably had so he probably knew more then me about them.

“You don't have to go back to him, you know.” He told me then conversationally.

I stared at him, suspiciously and hopefully.

“I do not?”

He shook his head.

“You hold magic, and people with magic protect their own.” he paused before snorting quietly. “Well, most of the time. I can take you to some people that can look after you and show you how to use your magic.”

I stared at him.

“I already know a few spells my mother taught me.” I told him proudly.

He raised his eyebrows, grinning.

“So I saw. Where is your mother now?”

My eyes shifted away from him.

“She is gone.”

“Gone where?”

“You ask a lot of questions, don't you?”

“Only questions I want answers to.”

“What is it to you where my mother is?”

“I want to help you!”

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“How do you propose to help me then?”

He reached for my hand and started winding a soft, gauzy material around it. I wasn't sure where it was come from, but it seemed to stem the bleeding for the moment.

“I know where a group of druids hide.” He started. “They know me and trust me.”

“You are the kings man servant.” I pointed out. “And they are druids.”

“Yes.” He didn't elaborate and I didn't push him. We sat silently for a moment.

“Anyway, they will take you in once I explain you have magic. They will look after you. Train you up.”

I sighed wistfully.

“That sounds nice.”

He brought his hand up to my cut face very slowly, and gently cupped it in his own, larger, rough hand.

“It will be nice.” He promised. “They will look after you with my aid.”

“Why would you do this for me?” I asked brokenly, all my anger and fear gone. 

He shrugged and kept his hand where it was.

“Because I know you are destined for great things. I was foretold about you and I will make sure you for fill your destiny.” He nodded determinedly before returning to my cuts.

“What about my father?” I asked.

“He will never see you again.” Merlin answered without looking up. “And unless you want to, you will never see him again.”

The relief that coursed through me was like no feeling I had ever known. Even at the aged of fifteen, as unworldly and broken and troubled as I was, I knew Merlin was somebody special, somebody who could and would protect me at all costs, no matter how well he did or didn't know me. And I trusted him.

After a moment or too, he straightened and brushed his hands off. Then he smiled and held out his one hand to me.

“Are you coming with me?” he asked.

I smiled and put my hands in his.

“You do know I won't be able to see you often, if at all, for the next few years?”

I hesitated at that. What if these druids did not like me and treated me just as badly as my father had? What would I do without him.

But he squeezed my hand and lifted my chin so I looked at him straight in the eye.

“Do you trust me?”

I followed him blindly to the druids.

But I never answered his question.

~0~ ~0~

 

Alright, so what did everybody think? I'll post up a new chapter if people like it and review. If its rubbish, please still review and tell me so.  
Thank you!!!


	2. Chapter 2: Caught Again

Chapter Two: Caught Again

 

FOUR YEARS LATER

My name was being called by the young children who danced around the boiling pot of their dinner.

“Show us again, Polly.” One of the older boys begged stopping his dance in front of me. “Show us the thing you did last year for All Hallows Eve.”

I laughed and shook my head, shaking my dark curls out of my face as I did so.

“No, I don't think I shall this time.” I smiled at him, shifting my burden of the basket of herbs to reach forward and ruffle his hair. “It's only for special occasions. You wouldn't enjoy it so much if I did it all the time!”

A young, female version of this long, brown haired boy came running up after her brother and she tugged on my spare hand, staring up at me pleadingly.

“Oh, please Auntie Polly!” She begged, swinging herself on my arm. “Please please please do it for us! We've been ever so good, haven't we Grandmama?” She now turned her pleading eyes on the old crone who walked beside me with her own basket of herbs and spices and medicinal objects.

 

The old crone (Whom everybody in the camp called Grandmama) was in actual fact this girls grandmother. But everybody was family here, or so it felt like some times, and most people forgot who their actual relatives were. I loved that it was like that, as I never felt like the one alone person. I was always 'Auntie Polly' or 'My grand-daughter Polly' or 'My best friend Polly.' Sometimes I was even 'My sister, Polly'. And that was the way I liked it.

Grandmama nodded at the girl, a half smile playing about her lips.

“Of course you have, dearest. Aren't you always?”

The girl nodded eagerly and swung even harder on my hand.

“Go on, Aunt Polly. You know you want to!” She squealed. “You always want to do more magic once you've been to the lake!”

I tilted my head to the side and reluctantly conceded her point with a slight nod. She was right. And I had been down to the lake before I had begun gathering herbs. But I wasn't sure if I should leave Grandmama, at her ancient age, to carry both baskets of heavy herbs. And besides that, I had to give the money to Aileen, the woman who had first taken me into her home. 

Sometimes, I found a small bag of money in the hole in the old weeping willow down by the lake.   
That willow tree, that lake, was our special place, Emrys's and mine. He had told me to always go there if I was ever upset, and one day he would once more come find me. The hole in the weeping willow is where he left the money for my upkeep, even though everybody in Camp accepted it very rarely as I had become very useful with a bow and arrow. I earned my own keep. However, as I had no way of reaching Emrys his money was left unreturned. 

 

I would sit there, kneeling by the lake, and calm myself. I would trail my finger tips across the water to try and revitalise my magic. I would look into the water just to remind myself I wasn't that young, defenceless girl Emrys had found on the battlefield that day. The waters were sparkling and magical. I loved them. I could watch anybody I wanted from them just by waving my hand over it. People knew just to let me be when I went down there. Well, all except Grandmama, who had found me earlier that day and demanded that I help her gather some more herbs for Camp.

“Yes, of course you must show the children your trick, Polly.” Grandmama proclaimed. “I have noticed you haven't been practising your magic as often. Perhaps this would put it to some good use!”

I cast a look at the small children who were now staring at me hopefully. Then back at Grandmama uneasily.

“I don't feel comfortable using my magic for this.” I told her uneasily through a whisper. “I am scared.”

Grandmama raised a gently mocking eyebrow at me and she unceremoniously dropped her own basket to the floor and wrestled mine off me.

“You are always scared about doing magic before you do it, Polyxena.” She told me stoutly. “And I have seen visions about you. You have no cause to worry about anything for now. You do not have to hide your magic, as you had to from your father and King Arthur. Here, you are free.” She gestured towards the young children who were no longer dancing around the pot but instead eagerly looking up at me. “Go. Play, Polly, and be happy.”

She somehow always came out with these words of wisdom, and though they were frequent they always had the desired affect on me. Smiling back at her, I turned back to the children and raised my hands softly, gracefully. My eyes burnt with the power I sought. I lightly watched my fingertips move in the air with my burning eyes, and almost instantly colours began spraying out of them. Sparkles of white, blue, red, green and purple sprinkled out of my finger tips and floated eagerly off of their own free will towards the children, pulling themselves together to form the shapes of various animals that played with each other and the children.

The children’s squeals of delight was enough for me to know I had done the right thing. I laughed and clapped my hands together as I watched my creations spin and turn, dance and glide, leaving trails of light and sparkle behind them. They danced around the camp for a bit, pouncing on each other and playing before they rolled around in the air into the woods. The children called after them, laughing, giving chase. I laughed as well, sizing up my skirts in my fisted hands and running after my little playing creations and their enchanted audience.

They pranced around the woods and I kept the children in my minds eye, even when I followed a creature they did not. I could see their colours, taste their little embers of magic. Some of the children’s embers, children who's family were naturally magic, were brighter and easier to follow. The others, the ones who did not come naturally to magic but still practised it, were a bit harder to keep track of, but I still managed it.  
If anything, I could still hear their squeals of happy laughter.

Then, I heard something. Not from where I was, I was too far, but I could hear something the children could hear. Horses hooves against the muddy forest floor, beating to the sound of some invisible drum. There was more of them that I could count and I could barely control the agonized wail that threatened to pass through my lips. Through the children I could sense the riders intention, their lust for a never ending fight, their want of bloodshed but their fear and their worry as well.

Overloading emotions did not stop me from also feeling the children's obliviousness. They were too happy chasing their dreams, my magical creatures, and had not yet fully comprehended the noises that they heard.   
I was panting heavily as I grasped my skirts in fisted hands and ran in my bare feet across the twigs and leaves, cutting my feet on some sharp stones.

“Alice!” I yelled. “Daniel, Ivan, Sarah!” I shouted all their names as loud as I could, hoping they would hear me and stop in their tracks.

Eventually, one by one they did, turning towards the sound of my voice. I came across them at a running pace and knocked right into young Alice who had been the closest too me. I could see in my minds eye Knights Of Camelot now, riding in fear away from some creature they had disturbed.   
Then I heard the cry, the screech of an angry dragon and the flap of its wings. It could kill us if it found us in an unguarded area. So could the knights of Camelot if they found us.

“Quickly!” I cried urgently at them, tapping on Alice's cheeks to keep her focused and tugging on Ivan's hands to stop him wiggling. “Do you hear that? That is the sound of an angry dragon and knights of Camelot. We are no longer safe here.”

Ivan trembled in my hand and Daniel stepped closer to his sister and cousin. The other children paired up, clearly scared at the urgency in my voice. 

“Go, now, back to the camp.” I waved my hand towards my creations, my eyes burning hotter than ever, and instantly they began to run back through the forest. “Follow my creatures. They will not steer you wrong. Trust in them and therefore trust in me. Quickly, I will follow.” 

I just had to make sure I hadn't left any signs of magic around.

The children nodded their heads and set off with energy only the youthful possess. Everything was getting closer. The dragon was circling over head, blocking out the sunlight, blocking out everything. It's screech defend me and I knew it sensed me though it could not tell where I was.

“Meyha nahke joro!” I hissed up at it threateningly, cursing the stupid knights for disturbing its slumber. Usually we druids got on very well with it as long as it had had the right amount of sleep.

It looked down at me, its bright, glowing eyes seeking me out in the middle of the forest floor. I could hear the knights. They grew ever closer. The dragons great wings flapped and for a moment we were one. I could sense its fear, its confusion, but most of all, its wisdom. Like Grandmama, it held wisdom that I could not even begin to imagine, and like me it was confused and afraid about the situation it now found itself in.

“Go!” I yelled up at it, starting to run myself, following the train of broken twigs down back towards the camp. “Leave! They'll kill you if they find you!”

The dragon made a bellowed squawking sound, then I heard the great beatings of its wings and its magical energy reached out to touch mine. Then, it was gone.

Branches scraped against my face and arms, I could feel blood seep out of the cuts and bruises, my magic flowing with the blood, fear, exhaustion. The village, when I finally stumbled into the camp, was in panic mode, parents ushering children, packing up everything, the boiling cauldron having its contents spilled out across the crisp autumnal earth. Everybody could hear the riders hooves, absolutely everybody, and I could sense each individual rider though. One felt familiar, a warm glow like a treacle sweet, orange in colour and beautiful in the sensation. But I didn't have time to fully recall who it was, too busy trying to protect my family. I could see the riders now, with their red capes flying behind them, bent over their horses and ready to kill, their eyes menacing. My family was screaming, the children were crying, my magical creatures having disintegrated into dust and no longer able to help sooth the smallest of children. 

Now, the riders yelled as they stormed our camp, and I could take it no longer as some of them swung themselves down from their saddles and unsheathed their swords. My eyes, which I hadn't noticed had squeezed themselves shut of their own accord, flew open and surveyed the scene before me. 

“Færblæd wawe!” I screamed, my eyes burnt with the magic, my soul thumping to an invisible force. I flung my hands out, time slowed down, and a massive explosion occurred that had the soldiers stumbling backwards. Then, everything stopped. The smoke stopped drifting, the wind stopped moving, the voices stopped screaming.

The world turned dark. I spun round. My body turned weak.

I started to collapse, my knees buckling, my head spinning. I felt it as I hit the ground, recognised the pain but didn't actually feel it. There was a buzzing in my ears. And ache in my bones. A pain in my blood. 

The light began to fade from my eyes. I felt myself drop back.

But not before I saw a dark head, protectively leaning over my body.

“Emrys?” I murmured weakly, barely able to hear my words myself.

Then, my Emrys was gone. I felt myself being lifted from the ground by a man with a shadowed face and a head of sunlight.

Certain that now was the day I was too die, and sure I had saved my druid family, I felt myself drop limply into his arms. Allowed my head to spin, for the sickness and the pain to take hold of me. Welcomed the darkness as it enveloped me, and welcomed me home.

Black.


End file.
